the great oak
she is surrounded by palms, tall and slender. her hands are open too, but calloused. she is not willowy.
i move past her and suck in my air (it should be colder). something is not right with me. that's how it feels. i miss home. there is no place to take a photo of. only feelings and colors and textures and the way my face looked that time or the braille the veins in my hands read like when they were stronger.
we had no witnesses. we closed our eyes and dove in every time. dried leaves, muddy snow, ice on the front steps, weather girls we were.
it is when i am driving that i have my time to myself. my time and i choose my music or no music or singing or no singing accordingly. today it's a new-to-me old cd that simply taps right into my homesickness.
the rain paints this old oak and i manage two pictures in as i drive by tonight. thankfully and strangely no one is behind me, swerving around impatiently as i slow and speed on this dangerous road. there is nothing i can do today but take out my camera (who hasn't been the same since she fell and broke months ago) and try, just try to speak to this void i have where home once was. they will think it is boston that i miss. they will think it is my old drinking hole or that school where i learned how to not learn. they will think i miss my old apartment. and partly they are right. partly there are parts of me that are gone and lost. and mostly there are deeper things that happened when we closed our eyes and no one was looking...and mostly i kept my eyes closed, but do you think she knew i looked sometimes? do you think she knew what i saw there?
i miss home. i miss open palms and hands scurrying on keyboards and fingers pressing shutter buttons and the idea that the great old oak would hang dearly on to life as long as we loved each other. i know now the oak just lives. simply. with or without us. and her palms surround her despite the wind and their height. i may stare straight ahead for awhile, sucking in my air and still, i will feel too warm, because something is just not quite right.
i move past her and suck in my air (it should be colder). something is not right with me. that's how it feels. i miss home. there is no place to take a photo of. only feelings and colors and textures and the way my face looked that time or the braille the veins in my hands read like when they were stronger.
we had no witnesses. we closed our eyes and dove in every time. dried leaves, muddy snow, ice on the front steps, weather girls we were.
it is when i am driving that i have my time to myself. my time and i choose my music or no music or singing or no singing accordingly. today it's a new-to-me old cd that simply taps right into my homesickness.
the rain paints this old oak and i manage two pictures in as i drive by tonight. thankfully and strangely no one is behind me, swerving around impatiently as i slow and speed on this dangerous road. there is nothing i can do today but take out my camera (who hasn't been the same since she fell and broke months ago) and try, just try to speak to this void i have where home once was. they will think it is boston that i miss. they will think it is my old drinking hole or that school where i learned how to not learn. they will think i miss my old apartment. and partly they are right. partly there are parts of me that are gone and lost. and mostly there are deeper things that happened when we closed our eyes and no one was looking...and mostly i kept my eyes closed, but do you think she knew i looked sometimes? do you think she knew what i saw there?
i miss home. i miss open palms and hands scurrying on keyboards and fingers pressing shutter buttons and the idea that the great old oak would hang dearly on to life as long as we loved each other. i know now the oak just lives. simply. with or without us. and her palms surround her despite the wind and their height. i may stare straight ahead for awhile, sucking in my air and still, i will feel too warm, because something is just not quite right.
After I read it I had to run outside and take a shot in honor of you and this story.
Just beautiful.
I love the color.
happy wishes to you all.
btw where's your photos hangin? i'll be in the bay
area Jan 9-12. would love to check it out.